Let's Start at the Very Beginning
by ValiantJokingThorn
Summary: *1st in A BAU Grimm in the FBI* When Spencer Reid was a child, his mother warned him that there was a "curse" on their family and showed him a book of fantastical creatures. Now he's an adult who is starting to see some things that are just a bit... other. What are the chances that these two things are not related?


_"All great changes are preceded by chaos." _– Depak Chopra

* * *

Spencer Reid remembered all of his childhood.

This wasn't necessarily a bad thing, but it wasn't something that he truly considered to be wonderful. Especially considering the fact that he'd been a twelve-year-old genius on the cusp of puberty in the middle of the hormone soaked halls of the Las Vegas Public High School. Teenagers had the ability to be cruel, especially those that felt the need to look stronger and better than others in order to feel powerful. That type had the almost unerring ability to find the weakness in others in the same manner a shark could find an injured seal by following the faint scent of blood in the water.

And to these hormone riddled humanoid sharks, nothing smelled of weakness as much as a middle school-aged kid who was taking AP high school classes and passing them with marks that no one else had a chance of coming near. All of his high school years had been spent trying to dodge bullies and get good marks while trying to simultaneously keep his head down far enough so that most of the teenagers around him would leave him alone.

Needless to say, by the time he reached college he had amassed quite the collection of memories he could have happily lived without. And with those days past and a few years working for the BAU under his belt, well it was rather easy to bury his early years under all the fresh horrors he faced almost daily.

However, there were a few things he was glad his memory would keep with him until the day he died. His mother hadn't been all there during his childhood, schizophrenia taking its toll on the vibrant and intelligent lady. Most of the time she had shifted between moods and times where she was either confused or paranoid that someone was out to get them.

Spencer had always accepted his mother idiosyncrasies, no matter how bizarre they might seem to him. Telling him not to talk to strangers or to look both ways before crossing the street were things he understood. Either of those things had the potential to land him in dangerous, if not deadly, situations. Not to mention those were things that all parents told their kids.

But when his mother would tell him things like not to eat any of the cookies that Miss Pearson from down the street would give him or to stay away from their grumpy mailman; well he merely put it down as a side effect one of his mother's episodes.

(He did throw out the cookies that Miss Pearson gave him though. She was a very pretty woman, but something about her almost seemed to be…off somehow. Privately, he thought it was his mother's paranoia getting to him.)

But whether she was paranoid or not, she was still his mother and the bedtime routine they had was the one thing he had truly loved about his childhood. As soon as he tucked himself in, she would bring a book from her room and sit by him on his mattress. Once they were both comfortable, he would open the book to wherever they had stopped the night before and he would read to her until either of them got tired. Voltaire and Shakespeare, Tolstoy and Dickens, Thoreau and Orwell; together they worked their way through so many stories.

He loved being able to read to her, these works of brilliant men. She would always smile and if she was in one of her more lucid moments, they might even discuss the nights reading a little. When his father finally left them though, he thought that his mother would be too upset to continue with their nightly tradition. Heck, he wasn't sure if he was ready to continue their readings. Even if his father had been showing signs for months that he was getting ready to leave, the fact that he actually had was still … jarring, to say the least.

So he was admittedly more than shocked when bedtime rolled around. Like clockwork, his mother entered the room with a book clutched in her hands. But there was something a little different about this book. It looked …old, and not like the few first and second edition classic tomes she kept in a special safe in the library. It looked like it was older than that, and somehow it also looked like it was new; like someone had added newer pieces to what was clearly an older handmade book. It was an odd dichotomy, one that he was suddenly dying to figure out.

His mother smiled and took her usual seat, running a caring hand over what he could now see was more of an oversized journal than an actual book.

"I know that you usually read the stories baby, but these ones," she hesitated, absently fiddling with a corner of the cover. "These aren't just stories baby, they're warnings meant for our family and families like ours. They're part of our history and our future, and I'd like to be the one to introduce them to you."

"What do you mean Mom?" he'd asked, looking carefully into her eyes to see if she was in the midst of one of her episodes. She had to be to come up with something like that.

To his surprise though, her eyes were clear and focused on him with a serious and intelligent gleam that he so rarely saw anymore. This was Diana Reid as she'd been before her illness started breaking her down; serious, purposeful, and with an intelligence that could ruthlessly pull any of her debate partners to pieces bit by bit. For the first time in a long time, his mother was here with him. And she was one hundred percent in control of her own mind.

"No one knows where it first came from or where it started, but at some point in our history, our family developed a type of… well… what basically amounts to a curse. Not everyone will develop it, but if they do they tend not to live long. There are others out there who can tell if you have the curse. And if you have it, they'll never stop trying to kill you until they actually succeed."

"What kind of curse? And how can you tell if you have it?"

Curses and others who would hunt them down because of it; clearly his mother wasn't as lucid as he thought. Or maybe she was using the idea of curses as alliteration for something. Yeah, that could be it.

She smiled at him wryly, likely guessing where his thoughts had strayed. "Well, the curse gives you a very unique ability, a type of second sight if you will. And believe me, Spencer, if that ever does happen you will definitely be aware of it."

"And what will I be seeing if I ever get this second sight?" he couldn't help but ask. Even if this was another one of his mother's delusions, he was still kid enough to be actually kind of… curious… about it all.

"This," was all his mother said before cracking open the journal and laying it across his lap.

He blinked in surprise before his eyes widened at what he was seeing. This… this could only be the result of some type of… delusions. He began turning through the pages slowly, not really trying to assimilate any of the information on the pages. There were so many drawings, so many … creatures that, judging by the different handwriting, had come from multiple people from different times if the dates on some things were to be believed.

Women with bat-like features or spider-like fangs, horrendous faces that wouldn't have looked out of place in a zombie movie, men with goat-like horns, humanoid dragons?! And the names; Bauerschwein, Blutbad, Damonfeuer, Hexenbiest. Obviously, there were some very hardcore delusions represented here, probably fed from one generation to the next by the talk of whatever supposed "curse" there was on their family. He was more than a little worried that a majority of his ancestors should have been locked away in sanitariums.

(The part of him that still loved folklore and fairy tales positively swooned in delight and pride at the different mythological creatures represented here. This was an entirely new branch of folklore that the world at large would never see. Some tiny, childish part of him even wished they were real.)

"Why are you showing me this now? Mom, in the past ten years you've never mentioned any of this to me. And now that Dad's gone, suddenly your bringing this book out and talking about monsters and curses. You're starting to scare me a little."

"I'm showing this to you now because I know that you will keep all this information in that wonderful mind of yours and that you will never forget any of it. I will baby, this disease will eventually take all that I am away. If you end up with the sight, I likely won't be able to really help you through that crucial first year.

By giving you this book now, I can make sure you have at least some knowledge to give you a head start in making sense of that world.

Your Dad was never a part of that world and he never would have been. Not like your Grandmother Louise or your Uncle Daniel. Not like I am a part, though I do my best to stay as far away from it as I can. You might become like us baby, or you could continue on like the rest of the world that rarely sees and never knows."

Spencer bit his lip as he watched his mother carefully. He could see that she was getting tired, could tell that it was starting to affect her lucidity somewhat. She needed to rest, but he wasn't sure when or if she would ever be up for this discussion again. So he decided to ask one last question, one he wasn't entirely sure he wanted an answer to.

"Do you want me to be able to be part of your world?"

She smiled at him, a tired yet thoughtful thing. "I think almost every parent hopes that their child will take after them in some way or another. You already are so much like me in all the ways that count and I am so very proud of you for that fact.

But when it comes to the sight, I pray with all my heart that you never take after me in that because it changes people, whether they want to be or not. It changes their relationships with their family and their friends, with their neighbors, the barista at the coffee shop, and the random passerby.

It's such a small thing, the sight, but its consequences are beyond the scope of the wildest imagination.

Your intelligence is something that is so special and precious baby, but it sets you apart from the rest of the world in a way that can be hard for others to ignore or accept. If you gain the sight, it will make it that there will be some out there who will try and kill you for it. What makes it worse is that they won't stop until they've succeeded.

So no baby, I don't want you to be anywhere near my world. What kind of mother would I be if I did?"

And really, what could he say to that?

.

.

.

When change is set to happen, there's no telling what course it might take or what exactly will herald its arrival. It can come with a trumpet blast or the sound of thunderous applause. It can come with a promise to be better tomorrow or as the result of a million small actions. But no matter if the change is good or bad, there's no real way to stop it from happening.

Spencer Reid sighed and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his temples in slow circles to try and stave off his headache before it had the chance to get any worse.

"You okay, Pretty Boy?"

He half twisted around to see his friend and co-worker Derek Morgan staring at him with concern. He grinned wryly and dropped his hands so he could rest his forearms on the desk.

"I'm fine," he assured and encompassed the mounds of files that were scattered about the desk with a lazy wave. "Why is it that there's so much paperwork even though we have no active cases at the moment?"

"You don't know? I'm shocked," Derek gasped in mock shock before leaning back in his chair. "In my early days of working in law enforcement, I always thought it multiplied when no one was looking."

"Technically it could, if someone added paperwork to your desk when no one was looking," Spencer mused before reaching out to pick up a folder off his desk. "For example, this folder contains paperwork that I distinctly remember doing last night. However, the paperwork in this folder hasn't been done yet. Now that being said, an argument could be made that I either did my work with invisible ink or this is different paperwork." Reid paused and gazed at his friend with a smile that turned slightly impish as he tossed the folder back on his colleague's desk. "Stop putting your work on my desk Morgan, I'm not doing it for you."

"It was worth a shot."

"Not happening, I have enough of my own to do," he grumbled, wincing as his head gave a particularly painful twinge.

"Why don't you go home Reid and get some rest? There's not an active case and since you rarely take time off; it wouldn't hurt for you to duck out early for once. The paperwork will still be here tomorrow," Morgan urged with a worried frown.

"No doubt it will have probably grown exponentially with everyone's extra paperwork as well," Reid snorted before cringing as the next wave of pain made his vision blur slightly. Groaning he reached up and rubbed his eyes, hoping that the pressure would give him some measure of relief.

"Okay, that's it."

He heard Morgan open a drawer and sift through it for a moment before the familiar sound of pills rattling in a plastic bottle reached his ears. The bottle was opened and some of its contents were shaken out before he heard the chair roll back and felt Morgan's presence move towards him. "Hand out."

Spencer grumbled slightly but obediently removed one of his hands from his face and held out his palm and felt two pills landing on his skin.

"Take those; I'm going to go talk to Hotch about sending you home early for the day."

"I'm not a child Morgan, I can take the bus home just fine. And I don't need to go home early," he tried to argue before biting off a groan at the slowly intensifying pain in his head.

"Why don't you try saying that again when you aren't obviously in pain? Now sit there and don't move, I'll be right back," Morgan warned before striding off towards their Unit Chief's office.

"Where am I going to go?" he grumbled to the empty air." You'd just track me down and drag me to your car anyways; which is technically kidnapping. I'd rather just take the bus and be done with it."

"Are you okay, Spence?"

"I'm fine JJ," he assured the blonde and twisted around to look at her. "I just have a bit of a headache, that's all. Derek is blowing it way out of proportion."

"Oh, I'm sure he is," JJ soothed with a motherly smile. "But is it really just a bit of a headache or is it a Dr. Spencer Reid second opinion headache? Because I very distinctly remember a certain someone coming back to work when they shouldn't have because they used themselves for a second opinion; so how right is Derek to be worried?"

"Probably more than genius here wants to admit," Emily's familiar voice answered and Spencer fought back the urge to groan. "He's been wincing and rubbing at his eyes and temples on and off for the last couple of hours."

"So it's actually a headache and not a second opinion," JJ profiled as the brunette came up beside her with a cup of coffee clutched in her hand. "That's good to know."

"JJ, Emily, it's nothing. It's just a headache that's probably been caused by too much paperwork and too many cups of coffee," he grumbled as he rubbed at his eyes.

His discomfort distracted him enough that the silence didn't register until his pain ebbed down to a more manageable level. Looking up he blinked as he realized that the two women had been joined by Derek, Hotch, and Rossi (who had appeared from… somewhere.) They were all staring at him with various expressions of concern and he frowned as he tried to figure out what had put them there.

"What?" he finally asked and frowned deeper when their expressions turned slightly incredulous. "I'm serious, what?"

"You have a headache from too much paperwork and too much coffee? I've seen you work on paperwork for hours at a time and I'm pretty sure you'd bleed coffee at this point if they took a blood sample," Derek replied skeptically. "You've never gotten headaches before, and you've been kind of…off… all week. What's really going on Pretty Boy?"

"I don't know. I just have this weird feeling of… impending doom and these headaches. They've been fading in and out all week but they've never been this bad until today."

"Why the feeling of impending doom? Did you forget a deadline or an appointment or something?" Rossi asked and watched as the young genius shrugged helplessly.

"I don't know! I've called everyone I could have a standing appointment with and there's nothing there!" Reid babbled and yanked on his hair in frustration." I just feel like something's going on and it's driving me crazy not knowing what it is!"

It was on the tip of Morgan's tongue to mess with his friend, but the look of genuine upset and pain on the genius's face made him reconsider. He sighed and reached out to rest a hand between the man's shoulder blades, giving him a gentle push.

"Go get your stuff, Pretty Boy."

"Do I have to?"

"Go home Reid," Hotch finally commanded, eyeing the young agent with concern." Your health is more important than paperwork that can wait until you're feeling better. Take the rest of the day and call me tomorrow if you need more time."

"Yes, sir," the genius sighed, knowing full well that arguing was useless. He slowly rose to his feet, ignoring the sudden spike of pain as he lifted his messenger bag and coat from the back of his chair.

Petulantly, he dragged his feet as he followed Morgan out the doors of the bullpen and towards the elevator. He was perfectly capable of getting himself home, thank you very much. But oh no, his friends were absolutely not going to let him out of their sight until he was safely ensconced in his apartment. He loved his team, he truly did, but sometimes they could be the biggest bunch of mother hens.

"I can hear you thinking from here, Reid. You're just going to make your headache worse if you don't stop."

"Careful Morgan, your feathers are showing."

"What?"

"What?"

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, interrupting their conversation and forcing them to the side to allow the bickering duo of female agents inside off. Reid watched the two walk away with a slight smile, thinking about all the times he and Morgan had been in that exact scenario. Slowly, he dragged his eyes away from the pair and towards his friend when a flash of bright color caught his eye.

His gaze snapped back to the agents as they turned the corner and his brow furrowed in confusion. Hadn't he just seen….? No… it must have been a trick of the light. He wandered thoughtfully into the elevator car and leaned against the back, absently listening as the other man pressed the button for the main floor.

There was absolutely nothing remarkable about those two. They were both pretty women, one Hispanic and the other of Asian descent; and both were dressed conservatively, unlike Garcia who favored bright colors and bold patterns.

So why did he see what appeared to be a flash of blue fur when neither of them had been wearing any?

.

.

.

.

He was really starting to wonder if he should have let Derek take him to the emergency room.

His head throbbed and he whimpered as the pain flared hot and intense along the back of his skull and blazed through his eyes. He dared to open them slightly and cringed back as his vision blurred and swirled as though it was being spun through a low-speed blender. Tears escaped his closed lids and he sobbed lowly as it only made the pain worse. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all.

When the pain finally receded to a slightly more manageable level, he tentatively rolled onto his back and used a shaking hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead. If the pain didn't get any better within the next hour or so, he was definitely calling Derek back to come and take him into the hospital because this headache was anything but normal.

He knew that only a small part of his reluctance to go in was due to the fact that he hated hospitals. The rest of it had to do with the vision issues he seemed to be having lately, or rather the delusions he'd been starting to deal with.

Over the past week, he'd been starting to see things that were more than a little unusual. A flash of red eyes from a surly young man, a glimpse of a rotting face that wouldn't look out of place in a horror movie, a mirage of feathers and unnaturally blue eyes, a double-take when he swore he saw red hair and bluish skin when there had only been a pretty young woman with black hair and ivory skin.

A part of him feared that he had joined the statistics of those who genetically inherited schizophrenia. In the past week, he had stopped himself multiple times from calling his mother and asking how things had started for her. But with her, there was always the issue of wondering if he had betrayed her and was gathering information for _them _or even remembering that she had a son some days.

If the tendency for schizophrenia was in fact manifesting, then he needed to tell the team and soon. After all, he had no idea how much longer he would be lucid enough to work before he started to become a potential hazard for and to the team. Not that he'd thought he'd be violent to others, but the mind was a tricky thing that could be hard to predict it with any real certainty.

He knew the team wouldn't think any less of him if and when he had to be institutionalized for his issues. He knew that they were all well aware of the how the condition affected the mind and he was almost certain that they would still come to visit him, even if he didn't remember who they were. Tears pricked his eyes at the thought; he didn't want to lose his memories, to lose his mind… lose himself.

His thoughts stalled as he felt another wave of pain started to build up in his head and he made a quick decision. Enough was enough, he was calling Derek. He rolled over to reach for his phone and froze as his whole body seized.

Pain, pain at a level he'd never felt before in his life. Hankel's torture and being shot in the knee couldn't compare to the absolute agony that rippled through him, seizing not only his mind but his body as well. White hot and sharp as a knife, he thought he might have screamed but the fire scorched every nerve in his body.

He tumbled into darkness.

.

.

.

.

Spencer yawned and stretched languidly; simply letting himself exist in the moment of peace he was feeling. He blinked as he realized that for the first time in almost a week, he felt almost normal.

Actually, scratch that, he felt better than he had in a while. His headache was gone and he could almost feel his energy humming under his skin like a live wire. It was an odd feeling, but not an unpleasant one.

A glance at the clock told him that he still had a couple of hours left before he had to leave for work so he set his coffee to percolate and taking a long shower. It felt good to get rid of the remnant of dried sweat from his skin and he emerged from the stall feeling almost like a new person He dug through his closet, trying to decide what he was going to wear today. All in all, it was a normal morning.

The phone rang.

Mentally debating if he should wear the purple or the white button-down shirt, he picked up the phone and answered it without checking the Caller ID.

"Dr. Reid."

There was a moment of silence before the familiar voice of his mother's doctor came through the phone. "Dr. Reid, this is Dr. Norman from the Bennington Sanitarium. Is now a bad time?"

"Not at all Dr. Norman, is everything all right?"

"Not exactly," there was a pause and Spencer could feel a ball of nerves slowly start to form in his stomach. "This might sound rather odd and perhaps a bit unprofessional, but you might want to sit down right now."

The nerves got worse as he mindlessly followed the doctor's advice and took a seat on the edge of the bed, ignoring the pair of slacks he was wrinkling by doing so. "What's wrong with my mother, Dr. Norman?"

"I don't know if there's an adequate way to say this, but…." the man trailed off before finally saying. "Dr. Reid I have called to regretfully inform you that your mother, Diana Elaine Reid, passed away last night."

The world came to a grinding halt as his mind tried desperately to make sense of what he had just heard. Logically he understood the fact that his mother would die eventually and a part of him had been expected this call to happen one day.

But the small illogical part of him that was still a little boy argued that she was his mother, she couldn't be dead.

"Are you still there?" Dr. Norman's voice brought him back to Earth, vaguely aware that the other man had been trying to talk to him the entire time. "Dr. Reid, are you alright?"

"What happened?"

"She passed away peacefully in her sleep, heart failure. One of the aides discovered her this morning when she went to wake her for her morning medication."

"I see."

Usually, his mind would be going a million miles an hour in all different directions.

Usually, he'd have a million questions to ask.

But right now, he couldn't focus on anything other than the fact that his wonderful, vivacious, intelligent mother was gone.

"Thank you for calling, Dr. Norman. I realize this might sound a bit insensitive, but could I call you back later to discuss any further arrangements for moms… funeral. This is all… a bit much."

"I understand, please feel free to call me back in the next few days. And, my sincere condolences for your loss Spencer, Diana was quite the lady."

"Yes, she was. Thank you, Dr. Norman."

His phone clicked and Spencer let the silent object fall from his limp hand and onto the floor.

For the first time in a long time, the tangle of thoughts and information that usually filled his head were all focused on one thought and one thought alone.

His mother was dead.

The one person, who had believed in him since the day he was born, was gone.

And for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do.

.

.

.

.

He wasn't sure how long it had been before he became aware of the trilling of his phone.

He turned his head slightly; vaguely aware of the tears wetting his face as he blearily squinted at the name that flashed on his phone. His eyes widened as he realized it was Hotch. Scrambling, he picked up the phone and accepted the call.

"Spencer, are you alright? You didn't show up to work and I've been trying to get a hold of you for the last couple of hours." Hotch sounded so concerned that it took everything he had not to break out sobbing once again.

"I'm sorry." He sounded horrible and he knew that his boss would pick up on it.

Sure enough, Hotch sounded even more concerned. "What's going on Spencer? I've never heard you sound like this before."

"I'm afraid that I'm going to need some time off Hotch, I'm not sure for how long though." He paused for a moment, trying to get his emotions under control before continuing." My mother's doctor called me earlier and he told me… he told me… that… that she passed away last night."

A sharp intake of breath echoed over the phone as he struggled to keep himself from falling apart

"I am so sorry Reid, is there anything I can do to help?"

"No, I just… I just need some time."

"Take as much time as you need. May I inform the rest of the team on your behalf? They'll be worried about you."

"They'll be worried regardless, but I would appreciate it."

"Alright and Reid, if you need anything at all don't hesitate to call me, no matter what time it is"

"Thanks, Hotch."

Spencer let the call disconnect and sighed before shifting to lie down on the bed, carelessly kicking the clothes he'd been going to wear for the day to the floor.

Tomorrow, he'd continue to deal with his grief.

Tomorrow, he'd start planning the funeral arrangements.

Tomorrow, he'd start trying to rearrange his life around the absence of his mother.

But that was all for tomorrow.

Today, he simply closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

_"Life is about change, sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's beautiful, but most of the time it's both." _– Lana, Smallville: Season 1


End file.
